


More Than I Do

by WhatWouldJackSparrowDo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dissociation, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Instability, Minor Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Mystery, POV Clarke Griffin, Panic Attacks, Past Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Past Finn Collins/Raven Reyes, Protective Bellamy Blake, Protective Octavia Blake, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatWouldJackSparrowDo/pseuds/WhatWouldJackSparrowDo
Summary: Mysterious circumstances surround the sudden tragedies afflicting Clarke's loved ones. Can she figure out why before she loses everyone she cares about? Maybe not, but she's willing to die trying.Title is from No One's Gonna Love You by Band of Horses. Can probably be read without any prior knowledge of The 100.Chopped Choice: Horror Submission2nd Place for Best Scary Story & 3rd Place for Best Overall
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin & Everyone, Clarke Griffin & John Murphy, Octavia Blake & Clarke Griffin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18
Collections: TROPED Choice: Horror





	More Than I Do

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (early) Halloween everyone! Here’s my contribution to Chopped Horror! Hope it actually scares you, and if not, well, I hope you enjoy it anyway? :P
> 
> Themes: Horror, Mystery, Modern AU  
> Tropes:  
> \- Found Family  
> \- Protectiveness  
> \- Based on a song **(No One’s Gonna Love You by Band of Horses)**  
>  \- Creepy music interrupting silence **(Horror trope!)**
> 
> I reference a few songs throughout the fic, so if you're the type of person who can listen to music while reading something, I encourage you to look up the songs as I mention them. (Just make sure you get the right version; I used a lot of covers, and I think listening to Britney Spears instead of J2 would change the tone juuust a little.) Here's the [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7GFlXO6rjsDELvKJeVHtGX?si=0CFzf3tVRH-voY2bkAgsLw) that I listened to while writing this, in case anyone is interested.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who voted! I'm thrilled to announce that this story was voted **second best scary story** and **third best overall**. Please go check out the other stories in the collection! They're phenomenal!
> 
> A final note: suicide is a HUGE theme in this story, and dissociation, panic attacks, and hallucinations are described as well. Also, mind the “canonical character death” tag. Please be careful while reading this!

> My loneliness is killing me  
>  And I must confess I still believe  
>  When I’m not with you  
>  I lose my mind  
>  \- Hit Me Baby One More Time by J2 ft. Blu Holliday

Clarke should have known better than to open the damn door. “What do you want, Finn?” she said tiredly. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“Clarke, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know, Finn. You told me that already.” Bitterness twisted her lips as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Remember? You, me, your girlfriend, _my mom’s funeral_? Any of this ringing a bell?”

Finn blanched. “I told you I didn’t know she was going to be there,” he said, wringing his hands. “I didn’t mean for you to find out that way – “

“You didn’t mean for me to find out at all,” Clarke cut him off sharply. “That’s not an excuse.”

“I was going to tell you,” he insisted. “I swear I was. I just – I just needed more time.”

“Well, you’re out of time.” She glanced down at her phone, checking the time, and sighed. “And so am I. Look, Finn, I don’t want anything to do with you, and I need to be somewhere soon. Do yourself a favor and just – give up, alright? It’s over. You can’t fix this. You’re just hurting us both – no, all three of us, by trying.”

“Clarke, I _love you_ ,” he said passionately, like that was the be-all, end-all of the conversation.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me for months!” she snapped, losing her temper. “ _Months_ , Finn! What kind of – “ She broke off when his eyes went wide, focusing on something over her shoulder. Clarke turned to look at Octavia, who stood behind her in all of her muscular, terrifying glory.

“Get lost,” the younger woman bit out, glaring at the unwelcome presence in the doorway. “She doesn’t want you here.”

Finn swallowed. “But I – “

“Don’t care,” Octavia dismissed. “Get lost and don’t come back, or I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

Clenching his fists, Finn cast one last longing look at Clarke and marched down the hall, away from their apartment.

“Honestly,” Octavia muttered as Clarke shut the door, “so dramatic, like he’s the hero of some Shakespearean tragedy…. I still don’t know what you ever saw in him.”

Clarke sighed. “Thanks, Octavia. That’s helpful.”

“Sorry.”

Clarke shrugged, making her way across the living room to drop onto the couch. “Is Bellamy almost home?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think he’s about five minutes away. You want some more liquid courage before he drives you over?” Octavia sat down beside Clarke and nodded to the half-empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table.

Clarke snorted. “I probably shouldn’t. Actually, I probably shouldn’t have had any at all, but…” She grimaced, thinking about the destination awaiting her.

Octavia frowned at her. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

“I know, O,” Clarke replied with a half-hearted chuckle. “I could hardly not know since you and Bellamy have reminded me at least once an hour.”

“We have not – “

Clarke held up her phone, with the proof plainly displayed on the screen (it wasn’t quite once per hour, but it was close enough).

“…Okay, fine, so we have. It’s just – this is a weird, weird thing to do days after finding out you’ve been cheated on. Don’t you wanna, y’know, forget this girl and pretend none of this ever happened?”

“It’s not about Finn,” Clarke pointed out. “It’s about my mom.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Clarke and Bellamy arrived at the café she was supposed to meet Raven at. “Ready?” Bellamy asked, bumping her shoulder gently with his.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied grimly.

“Text me if you change your mind about taking the bus home, okay? I’m free for the rest of the day.”

“I know, Bellamy.” Clarke hugged him and kissed his cheek before stepping backwards. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

When she entered the café, it took a second to spot Raven, who turned out to be sitting in a booth in the corner. “Hi,” the other woman said, guarded but not unfriendly, though her crossed arms and legs betrayed her displeasure with being there.

“Hi,” Clarke responded, sitting down across from her. She found her own uncertainty mirrored on Raven’s face, which was something to take comfort in, she supposed. “I know I said this already, but I’m sorry about everything with Finn. If I’d had any idea – “

Raven waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about it,” she said brusquely. “You didn’t know any better than I did. Besides, there’s… I mean, it hurt like hell in the moment, but it hardly matters considering…” She swallowed, and now Clarke saw her grief mirrored, almost equal in intensity, which was even more of a comfort. Her friends had been plenty supportive, and so had all her mother’s friends and coworkers, but Abby had no other family. (Well. Other than Josephine, Clarke’s sister. But Clarke hadn’t been able to find her despite her best efforts to tell her what had happened. She hadn’t shown at the funeral, so she must have either not known or not cared.) The grief she felt wasn’t a pain she would have wished on anyone, but at the same time, it was nice to have someone else who mourned her mother on a more intimate level.

“You said she was the one who found you when your leg broke, right?” Clarke asked tentatively.

Raven nodded, her shoulders relaxing a little as her hands fell into her lap. “Yeah. The guy who hit me just drove off, and I couldn’t call anyone because my phone broke in the accident. I was really lucky that she saw me while she was driving. She brought me to the hospital, did the surgery on my leg… they said that if she hadn’t found me, I could have done permanent damage by trying to walk on it all night – well, _more_ permanent damage, anyway. This isn’t ideal,“ she gestured to her brace, “but hell, at least I can still walk on it, right?” She smiled for the first time, though a hint of sadness lingered in her eyes. “And that’s – you know, that’s thanks to your mom.”

Clarke smiled back. “I’m glad she was there to help you. You two stayed in touch afterwards?”

“Sure. She did all of my checkups while we were figuring out whether or not my leg would keep healing. Even afterwards, we talked at least once a week for a long time. She helped me figure out what kind of engineering I wanted to major in. We still talk pretty often, actually.” Raven sounded a bit lost. “She really never mentioned me to you? Ever?”

“Oh, that’s not – that’s not about you. That’s about us.” Clarke looked away, tucking a few errant strands of hair behind her ear. “We haven’t been that close since my dad died. I’m not surprised that I didn’t know everything about her life.”

They exchanged a few anecdotes, reminiscing for a while before Clarke got to her true reason for meeting with Raven. Straightening her back, she said, “There’s something I have to ask you.”

“Um…, okay?” Raven replied warily.

“There’s no good way to ask this, but… do you know if my mom had a drug problem?”

Raven’s eyes widened. “What? No, she didn’t – she couldn’t have – “

“I thought so,” Clarke said quickly, relieved even through her alarm. “I mean, I thought she didn’t. I thought I would have noticed something like that, but like I said, we haven’t been too close…. You didn’t see any signs or anything, though?”

Raven shook her head firmly. “No, and I would have noticed, too. Something like that, I would have noticed for sure.”

“That’s what the medical examiner said she died of,” Clarke explained. “A drug overdose. But that doesn’t make any sense, right?”

Raven was silent for a long time, leaning forward to rest her forehead on her elevated, clasped hands, staring at the empty space between her elbows on the table. When she finally spoke again, her voice was soft and understanding. “You think the M.E. was wrong? Or do you think they were lying?”

Clarke started. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve been assuming that he was just wrong. Why? You think he was lying?” Everything started clicking into place in her head as she picked up speed. “You think that someone murdered her and paid off the M.E. to make it look like an overdose? Or maybe the M.E was in on it – “

“No, no, no – Clarke – !” Raven moved her hands away from her face and used them to hold Clarke’s own hands, effectively halting their escalating gesticulation. “Listen, Clarke, I know how you feel right now, okay? And I know everyone is probably telling you something like that right now, but my mom – she died of alcoholism, and I looked everywhere for some kind of answer that didn’t put the blame on me, but the truth is that sometimes people just make bad decisions and it’s not anyone’s fault – “

“You think I’m crazy,” Clarke realized defeatedly.

“Not crazy,” Raven corrected firmly. “Just… grieving. Which is normal.”

Clarke scowled, but didn’t pull away. “I’m _not_ just grieving. I’m serious.”

“Clarke, who would have even wanted to kill your mother?” Raven pointed out, not unkindly.

“I… I don’t know, maybe…” Clarke trailed off, growing hesitant. She couldn’t think of a single person. “Maybe it was a crime of opportunity…?”

“A faked drug overdose… of opportunity?”

Clarke opened her mouth to defend herself, then deflated. “…Okay, I see your point.”

Raven’s face showed no judgment, only sympathy. “Clarke, this wasn’t your fault. Okay? It kills me to think that Abby would have done something like this to herself, but at the end of the day, she made her own decisions, and you weren’t responsible for them.”

Clarke sighed. “It’s just… this is the second time someone close to me has died so… uncharacteristically.” Tears burned behind her eyes as she remembered a less recent funeral. “Two years ago, my best friend, Wells, died in a car crash. They said he was drunk-driving, but Wells didn’t even drink…!” She pulled one hand away from Raven to press it against her mouth as she struggled to maintain her composure. “And the last thing I ever did was tell him that I h-hated him – “

Raven abandoned her seat on the booth to sit in the chair beside Clarke and hug her. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

Clarke pressed her face into Raven’s shoulder and wound her arms tightly around Raven’s waist. “It wasn’t even his f-fault,” she mumbled, voice muffled by Raven’s jacket as her breath quickened against her will. “I was – I was having problems because of the stress of senior year, and I kept seeing things in the mirror that weren’t there and I didn’t tell anyone but him and I thought he told her and it was such a stupid thing to be mad about, and – and it wasn’t even him in the end.” She pulled back for a second to wipe tears off of her face, though the deluge had not yet ceased. “I found out last week that my mom discovered it by going through texts on my phone, and he never told her anything at all, and I was so mad that she let me think it was him all this time, and that’s – that’s – that’s the last time I saw her – “

Raven hugged her for a few more minutes, graciously ignoring that her clothes were being ruined by tears and snot the whole time. When Clarke had collected herself a bit, Raven gave her one last squeeze and released her, but stayed sitting beside her. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Clarke, but I promise you, none of that was your fault,” she insisted. “People don’t do those kinds of things because of just one fight. There were other things going on, and you couldn’t have known what would happen next for either of them.”

Clarke couldn’t quite make herself believe what Raven was saying, though she tried all afternoon. Maybe that was why later, on her way to the bus stop, she went against her better judgment and called Finn.

“Clarke! I – I didn’t think you would call!”

“Listen, Finn, I’m not calling to… forgive you, or take you back, or something like that, but I don’t like the way we left things, either. I don’t want to hate you, Finn. I still care about you. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do. I don’t think I can ever be with you again, but… maybe, in a month or two, we can try to be friends.”

“I understand,” he said as soon as she was done speaking. “I just want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. Either of you.”

Clarke had trouble believing that, too, but she wasn’t looking to argue, so she humored him with an affirming hum. “Can you please give me some space until I’m ready to talk to you again?”

“Of course.” He sounded sad, but not unbearably so. Clarke was confident that their friendship could recover from this, even though their romantic relationship couldn't.

* * *

The next morning, Finn Collins was found hanging in his living room.

* * *

> Come on, try a little  
>  Nothing is forever  
>  There’s got to be something better than  
>  In the middle  
>  \- One Headlight by The Wallflowers

“We couldn’t find any next of kin, but yours was the last number in his call history, and a frequently recurring one….”

Clarke stared at the TV that hung on the wall behind the police officer addressing her.

“Do you know if he had any living relatives, or a partner? Maybe a close friend?”

In the TV’s blank screen, her reflection raised its eyebrows questioningly at her. She was sure that her face did not have that much life in it at the moment.

“Miss Griffin?”

“Clarke was his girlfriend until recently,” Octavia said quietly, her shoulder pressed firmly against Clarke’s as they sat together on the couch in their living room. “He had another… close friend, too. I think they grew up together. Her name is Raven Reyes. I can give you her number – or maybe – Bellamy, do you know anyone close to her?”

“I think she’s friends with Murphy,” Bellamy replied from Clarke’s other side. “It’s better to hear it from a friend, I think. I’ll pass your number along to him so he can give it to her when he tells her, Officer Woods.”

“Please, call me Lexa,” the officer responded. “Did he and Miss Griffin live together while they were dating? Traditionally, where there is no next of kin, the – “

“I want to see his body,” Clarke said.

Everyone fell silent. Her reflection widened its eyes at her.

“Clarke, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Octavia asked uncertainly.

“I’m sure.” Clarke wrenched her gaze away from the TV screen, where her reflection seemed to be shaking its head at her, and focused on Lexa’s face. “I want to see his body.”

Lexa looked at her for a few moments, first worried, then contemplative, and then, finally, she nodded.

Bellamy and Octavia checked with her a few times on the way to the morgue to make sure she still wanted to see him, and to make sure she knew that she didn’t have to, but she didn’t change her mind. She had to be sure. When the four of them arrived, Lexa spoke to the M.E. to inform them of the situation, and they waited patiently until the M.E. told them that Finn was ready. Clarke followed him and Lexa into the back, Bellamy’s arm around her shoulder and Octavia’s hand in hers. The M.E. approached the covered body on the table and pulled the white sheet back just enough for her to see his face.

He looked… scared.

The sense of unreality that had swallowed her when Lexa had first given her the news now spat her back out, sending her spiraling into the fragile glass surface of her equilibrium. As it shattered around her, she reeled backwards from the sight, and she became aware that she was falling, only once she had stopped falling, her descent interrupted by Bellamy’s grip on her waist. “No,” she sobbed as he gently guided them both to the floor. “No, no, no - _Finn_ \- “

Seconds or hours later, she sat in the waiting room, her face pressed into her raised hands, elbows rested on her knees. As steadily as she could, she said, “Who killed him?”

“...Miss Griffin, this was a suicide,” Lexa told her uncertainly.

“No way.” Clarke lifted her head to meet Lexa’s pitying gaze. “We talked just last night. He was fine. Someone must have killed him.”

Lexa still seemed skeptical, but she said, “If that’s true, our forensics unit will find evidence of it. I’ll let you know as soon as we know for sure.”

* * *

“I’ve got alcohol!” Jasper announced by way of greeting as he marched into the house the next day. True to his word, he carried armfuls of craft beer, likely courtesy of Monty’s parents’ brewery. Monty, Harper, and Miller followed, carrying nearly as much.

Bellamy shut the door behind them. “Thanks?”

The four of them strode directly into the kitchen and deposited their wealth of alcoholic beverages on every surface that was available. Then Monty, Jasper, and Harper approached Clarke where she sat on the couch in the living room to express their sympathies in a cacophony of various sentiments and physical affection. Miller joined them soon with two glasses of beer in hand and passed one to Clarke, a sentiment that she appreciated equally.

“Hey, where’s mine?” Jasper demanded.

“Get your own.”

“Rude.”

The four of them, plus Bellamy and Octavia, made it their mission to take Clarke’s mind off of the investigation through a combination of board games, video games, and TV. However, close to the end of the night, the investigation was brought to the front of her mind once more when Bellamy answered a knock at the door and found Lexa on the other side. Clarke could not hear their murmured conversation from her place in the living room, but the graveness on their faces spoke volumes. “Clarke, may we speak in private?” Lexa requested.

Clarke led Lexa to her bedroom, closing the door once Lexa had entered. “What did the forensics unit find?” she asked immediately.

Lexa clasped her hands together in front of her stomach, a stance that was appropriately formal for the situation but jarring in contrast with the mess that Clarke’s bedroom had devolved into over the past week or so. “There was no evidence to suggest there was any forced entry, or that anyone else was even in his home within the past two weeks.”

Clarke’s stomach dropped. “So you have no leads? None at all?”

“Clarke….”

“What’s next? Are you going to search his social media and his – you know, his emails and his texts for any kind of threats or – “

“Clarke, the case is closed.”

Clarke stared uncomprehendingly at Lexa for a few moments. Then, realization sinking into her, she laughed harshly, turning away from the officer. “Great. That’s it? You’re done investigating, just like that?” Against her will, her eyes were drawn to the mirror above her dresser. Her reflection looked at her pityingly. She scowled at it. It did not scowl back.

Lexa sighed. “I know it’s difficult to accept that someone so close to you might have done something like this – “

“ _He didn’t kill himself_!” Clarke hissed, whirling back around. “He had no reason to do that! We spoke yesterday and he was _fucking happy_!” Happy might have been an overstatement, but Finn had definitely been a far cry from depressed to the point of committing suicide. “How can you people close an investigation after two days?”

“That’s what happens with cases that are straight-forward like this one.” Lexa spread her hands in the air helplessly. “It wasn’t my choice, anyway. I’m not in the homicide unit. Unless you come across some evidence that someone else was involved in this…, my hands are tied.”

* * *

“Somehow,” Miller grunted as he finagled with Clarke’s bobby pin and the lock on Finn’s front door, “I don’t think this is what she meant.”

“Probably not,” Clarke acknowledged.

With a _click_ , the door popped open. Miller ducked under the yellow tape barring their entrance and held it up for her to follow suit.

“You don’t have to stay, Miller.”

“Like hell I’m gonna leave you here by yourself,” Miller retorted. “Only one of us has experience breaking and entering without getting caught, remember?”

Admittedly, Clarke wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for in Finn’s apartment, but she’d be damned if she didn’t at least attempt to prove it was a homicide. Armed with disposable gloves and Ziploc bags, she and Miller scoured the apartment for stray hairs, missing possessions, and anything else that could be considered an indication of foul play. Try as they might, however, they couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. As their search rolled to a halt in Finn’s bedroom, a familiar voice, laden with resignation, called out, “Clarke?”

Clarke panicked and eyed the window speculatively, hissing to Miller, “Think we can escape through there without getting caught?”

“I’m not here to arrest you, okay? I’m just here to talk.”

Clarke and Miller exchanged glances, then found their way to Lexa.

She stood in the living room, one eyebrow raised. The officer looked them up and down, taking in their dark, utilitarian outfits and latex gloves. “This isn’t what I meant,” she commented flatly.

Clarke crossed her arms defiantly, but said nothing.

“Look, I’ll make you a deal. Drop your vigilante investigation, at least for tonight. Now that the case is closed, I can tell you as much about our investigation as you want. Just meet me for coffee tomorrow and we can go over it, okay?”

Clarke acquiesced, and with that, their excursion met an abrupt end, Miller driving her home in silence.

When she arrived at the diner the next day, Lexa was already seated at a table with some files spread out before her. They exchanged pleasantries as Clarke sat down across from her. Lexa began, “Before we get started, I have a question for you. Why is it so important to you that Finn was murdered by someone? If your last interaction with him was a good one, a hopeful one, it would seem to me that your relationship with him bore no relevance to his suicide.”

Clarke snorted, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, well, that’s hard to believe when everyone who claims to love me seems to be killing themselves to get away from me.” At Lexa’s questioning look, she found herself spilling all the details, first of her mom’s death, then Wells’s. She made it a priority not to have a repeat incident of crying all over a near-stranger in a public setting, but it was an arduous task.

“Do you have a second parent in the picture?” Lexa asked. “Or any siblings?”

“My dad died two years ago, two or three months before Wells did. Cancer.” Clarke huffed sourly. “At least that’s one thing I can’t blame myself for. And as for siblings…, I had an identical twin sister, years ago. Well. ‘Have,’ I guess. We went into foster care when we were young, and when I got home a few months later, I found out that she decided to get adopted by the family she was with instead. Changed her name and dropped off the face of the earth. I couldn’t even find her for Mom’s funeral.”

Lexa nodded slowly. “I think I understand your reluctance to accept the circumstances of Finn’s death, now,” she reflected. “But there’s a flaw in your reasoning.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Everyone who loves you _hasn’t_ died, Clarke. You’re surrounded by people who love you. Bellamy, and Octavia – I could see your pain in their faces and their actions. People don’t hurt that badly for someone they don’t truly love. Even Miller, though I only spoke with him briefly last night, seemed to care a great deal for you.” Gingerly, Lexa reached a hand across the table. Clarke looked at it dubiously, but felt her features soften as she accepted Lexa’s hand in her own, prompting a smile from the other woman. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but you can’t blame yourself for any of the things that you’ve been through. Your mother, your sister, your friend – they made their own choices, and you weren’t responsible for them. And from what you’ve told me, if anything, it sounds like you were a positive presence in the last few hours of Finn’s life, not a driving force behind his ultimate decision.”

Clarke chewed on her bottom lip for a half-second before confessing, “I just don’t see how I’m supposed to believe any of that.”

Lexa squeezed her hand. “That’s okay. You won’t be alone. You’ll have Bellamy, and Octavia, and your other friends. And…” She hesitated, suddenly shy. “If you want…, you’ll have me, too. None of us are going anywhere.”

* * *

> You’re just a cannibal  
>  And I’m afraid I won’t get out alive  
>  No, I won’t sleep tonight  
>  \- Animal by Chase Holfelder

Three months later, Clarke was getting better with the support of her friends, Lexa, and her university’s counselor. She and Lexa had been dating for a while, and their relationship was doing well. She still hadn’t told anyone about seeing things in the mirror again; the idea of telling someone just made her think of Wells. It was probably nothing to worry about, anyway. The first time they'd started, they had gone away on their own just a few months after Wells’s death. It would only be a matter of time before they faded out again. 

She’d been so certain that she’d been improving. Right up until Lexa said, “I love you,” and her blood ran cold.

“No, you don’t,” she blurted out, backing away until she hit the wall of Lexa’s living room. “You can’t love me. You barely even know me.”

“Yes, I do,” Lexa affirmed, taking slow, gentle steps toward her. “I do know you, and I do love you, and I’m still not going anywhere.”

Clarke flattened her back against the wall and slid until she hit the carpet, shaking her head violently. “You can’t. You can’t.”

“I can,” Lexa said patiently. She knelt in front of Clarke. “Look at me. It’s okay, Clarke.”

“ _No_ , it’s _not_ ,” Clarke hissed, icy fear rushing through her veins. She pressed both hands firmly against her mouth and took a deep, stabilizing breath through her nose, then lowered her hands. “I need you to call in sick tomorrow.”

“…I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lexa hedged, briefly biting her lip. “Your counselor said that giving ground to your fears will – “

“I don’t care. I need you to stay where I can see you today. Just – Just one day, okay? Tomorrow, if – _when_ ,” Clarke amended at the nervous look from Lexa, “you’re safe and sound tomorrow night, I’ll drop it. Please, Lexa.”

Lexa sighed, but agreed.

That night, once Lexa had gone to bed with Clarke’s assurance that she would soon be joining her, Clarke gathered some snacks and some books and settled into the chair in Lexa’s bedroom to watch over her girlfriend. She had pulled more than one all-nighter, especially since starting college, so she expected the task to be easy. However, she underestimated the effect that panic and fear could have on someone’s energy levels. By late morning the following day, she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“Clarke, just go to bed,” Lexa urged her. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You need to go to sleep. It won’t help anyone if you sit there dozing off all day.”

“I can’t. Not today. I won’t leave you on your own.”

“…Fine. What if we ask someone else to hang out with me while you nap? Would that be good enough?”

It would be, but unfortunately, there was only one person Clarke knew who didn’t have class or work on a Wednesday afternoon.

“Isn’t this exactly what your counselor didn’t want us to do?” Murphy commented mildly as he strode through the door to Lexa’s house. “Something about letting your fear control you…?”

“It’s just one day,” Clarke insisted, stifling a yawn. She rose unsteadily from the couch and pulled him into a short, one-armed hug. “Thanks for coming, Murphy.”

He shrugged as she released him. “I think I still owe you for like two semesters’ worth of tutoring in Professor Kane’s English class, so…. This is an easy enough way to pay you back, anyway. Just don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Lexa gave her a gentle push in the direction of her bedroom. “Go get some rest.”

As Clarke moved towards the bed, she glimpsed her reflection in Lexa’s mirror and instinctively recoiled. With pale skin and bloodshot, distant eyes, it looked more dead than alive.

* * *

“CLARKE! _CLARKE_!”

No amount of exhaustion could have prevented Clarke from waking when she heard Lexa’s voice, shrill and frightened. She threw her covers off, launched herself from the bed, and hurtled out of the room before she was even fully cognizant of the situation. In the living room, Murphy rammed his shoulder against the bathroom door. It did not budge.

“What’s going on?!” Clarke gasped.

Murphy looked up at her, pale and wide-eyed, and hastily fumbled through his pockets before tossing a cell phone to her. “Call 911!”

“Please, get me out,” Lexa sobbed from inside the bathroom.

“What’s – “ Clarke swallowed the rest of her question as her shaky fingers finished dialing and pushed the phone against her ear.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My girlfriend is being attacked,” Clarke answered, speculating to the best of her ability. “She’s been locked in the bathroom and can’t get out and – someone is – attacking her – “

Murphy picked up a wooden chair from the dining room and slammed it against the bathroom door so hard it shattered upon impact. It did not leave a mark on the door.

“Let me go,” Lexa begged her assailant. “Stop this, please….”

Clarke rattled off her address for the 911 operator.

“Do you have a hammer or something?!” Murphy demanded.

“Officers are en route to your location. Ma’am, please stay – “

Clarke tossed the phone, ignorant of where it landed, and dashed into the kitchen. She rummaged through the drawers and cabinets as fast as she could, but there were no tools that would be of any use. Frustrated, she pulled one drawer all the way out of its track and threw it onto the ground. “I can’t find anything!”

“Clarke, I’m sorry,” Lexa gasped.

Clarke ran back to the living room, which was now littered with broken furniture and other things that Murphy had wielded against that unaffected, apathetic door. “It’s okay,” Clarke promised with a voice that shook. “We’re getting you out of there!”

“Gun,” Murphy muttered suddenly. “Police officer, she must have – “ Without finishing his thought, he took off towards the bedroom.

“I didn’t listen,” Lexa continued, her voice weak, her breath shallow. “I never listened to you. I’m so sorry.”

Clarke battered her fists against the door. “Don’t say that,” she cried. “Don’t be sorry, just – keep - fighting!” She threw her whole body against the door, once, twice, three times. It did not even shift under her weight. “You’re going to make it, okay?! Say it! Say it to me!”

Silence.

“Lexa?”

Silence.

“ _Lexa_!”

Murphy charged out of the bedroom with the pistol that Lexa kept in her nightstand. “Both of you, stand back!” he barked. Clarke wrenched herself away from the door and watched as he fired off four rounds. The first two hit the wooden panes close to the center of the door. The third hit the doorknob. The fourth looked like it hit its target between door and the doorway, but she wasn’t close enough to be sure. It didn’t matter. All four ricocheted off of their destinations like they were striking titanium instead of wood or brass.

Beneath the door, scarlet liquid seeped into the carpet of the living room floor. The door abruptly popped open.

Murphy, who was closer, dove into the bathroom, still wielding that gun. Clarke dashed after him, reaching him as he fell to his knees on the tile floor of the bathroom in a pool of Lexa’s blood, wrapping his hands around her wrists. Lexa herself was leaning in the corner of the room against the doorway and the adjacent wall. Clarke looked around for an assailant, but there was none, and the window was closed (although its capability of fitting a grown human was debatable anyway). She lunged for the roll of toilet paper and tore a long length of paper from it, then dropped to her knees beside Murphy and started wrapping one of Lexa’s wrists.

“Clarke,” Murphy said suddenly.

“Help me stop the bleeding,” Clarke replied sharply.

“Clarke – “

Clarke looked up, a panicked rebuke on the tip of her tongue, but her eyes landed first on his fingers pressed against Lexa’s neck, then on Murphy’s grave expression, and she felt the ground vanish from under her knees as the weight of the situation crushed her.

In the distance, the sound of sirens grew and grew and grew.

* * *

“So the door opened on its own?”

“Yes.”

“And there was no one in there?”

“Yes.”

“And the window was closed?”

“ _Yes_ , Raven,” Murphy bit out. “All of that is exactly what I just said five seconds ago.”

Raven leaned back in her chair, concern and skepticism mingling on her face. “Sorry, it’s just….” She trailed off, then shrugged noncommittally in lieu of finishing her sentence.

“…Not to state the obvious, but none of that is… y’know, possible.”

Harper smacked Jasper on the back of the head for his comment. “Not helpful, Jas.” She cast a worried look at Clarke, who, for her part, was not especially engaged in the conversation. Clarke had cried and sobbed and hyperventilated intermittently for hours, and now her tears had all dried up, and the world around her was heavy and strangely… viscous in a way that was new to her. None of it felt real. If she were being honest, nothing that had happened since her last fight with her mom had felt real. Maybe none of it was. Maybe if she just didn’t speak or acknowledge the situation, this flimsy, unconvincing imitation of reality would dissipate around her.

“Maybe you were just in shock?” Monty suggested nervously.

“I was _not_ in _shock_!” Murphy snapped at him. “What happened to Lexa wasn’t natural, okay?! Something seriously fucked up happened and nothing about it was normal or natural or ‘ _possible_ ’!” He took a deep breath as his fingers started tapping agitatedly on the arm of the couch in Clarke’s living room. “Lexa didn’t…” He glanced uncertainly at Clarke, but pressed forward, “Lexa didn’t kill herself. She was crying, begging us to get her out, begging whatever attacked her to stop.”

Miller’s forehead creased. “We’ve moved from ‘whoever’ to ‘whatever?’”

Murphy looked startled, then contemplative, then tired. “I don’t fucking know, okay?”

“It’s because of me.”

Everyone fell silent and turned their gazes on Clarke. After a few moments, Octavia said hesitantly, “Don’t say that, Clarke. It’s not – “

“ – because of me, right, I know. All of you keep saying that. Lexa said it, too.” As she spoke, Clarke felt all of the weight of the past two years drain from her body and her soul, leaving her suspended in a kind of otherworldly buoyancy that was incongruent with the cruel, bleak reality of her situation. “But if you look at the facts – Dad, Wells, Mom, Finn, and now Lexa – “

“You didn’t give your father cancer,” Raven pointed out.

“Didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t,” Bellamy refuted firmly. “Because that’s impossible.”

“What happened to Lexa is impossible,” Clarke retorted. “All of this is impossible! How can none of you see that?”

“Okay, I’m with you on the whole ‘impossible’ thing,” Murphy interjected sharply. “But ‘because of you’ makes it sound like you _did_ something, which, I mean, you obviously didn’t. So I’m not with you there.”

_Maybe I should have._

Bellamy gave her a look that briefly made her wonder if she had spoken out loud. “Clarke, I think you should get some rest. We can talk about this more tomorrow.”

Clarke pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “Just forget it. Murphy is the only one taking this seriously and even he doesn’t – “ She broke off, shaking her head. “Everyone who loves me has died, violently, within the past two years, and if you can really sit there and tell me that doesn’t have anything to do with me, then none of you are actually paying attention.” She stormed off to her bedroom.

No sooner had she shut and locked the door behind her than it became clear to her what she needed to do next. She opened the drawer of her dresser and pulled her razor out.

There was a knock at the door. “Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice, tense and uneasy, rang out in her room.

Clarke hesitated, fingers wrapped tightly around the handle. _This is for the people I love,_ she thought, steeling her resolve. “Bellamy, just go.”

“Clarke, I’m worried about you.”

This time, Clarke ignored him, silently popping one of the blades out of the razor.

The doorknob rattled, just once, as Bellamy attempted to open the door. Then it began rattling violently. “Open the damn door,” he snapped, alarmed.

“She locked the door?” That was Octavia, an undercurrent of panic in her voice. “That’s not like her.”

She put the blade against her wrist. She willed herself to push, but her hands were shaking instead of cooperating.

“ _Clarke_! Let me in, damn it! If you don’t open this door – ”

It was Miller she heard next. “Move. I got this.”

 _Do it,_ she thought at herself, blinking back tears. _This is how you keep your friends safe._

“Clarke?” Octavia called through the door, nearly masking the sound of Miller tinkering with the lock on her door. “Hey, Clarke, listen, let’s just – let’s just talk about this, okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Clarke bit out.

“Oh, yes, there is,” Bellamy snapped. “You can’t do this. If everyone who loves you dies, then it’s too late.”

Dread raced up Clarke’s spine, drowning out her self-preservation instincts. Her hand pressed the blade against her skin hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. If she felt any pain, it was masked by everything else that she felt. “Bellamy, _don’t -_ ”

“Because I love you. So if there’s some impossible, supernatural thing going on, then you _have_ to stay alive to figure it out, or I’m next.”

His words slammed into her chest, knocking the air out of her lungs as the world started spinning. “Damn it, Bellamy,” she whispered, her grip on the blade weakening. “How could you do this…?”

The blade landed on the floor just as the door swung open. Bellamy pushed Miller out of the way, strode towards her, and, after briefly inspecting her wounded wrist, pulled her into his arms. “Thank God you’re okay,” he muttered. His arms tightened around her. “We’re going to figure this out, Clarke. Together.”

* * *

> I look inside myself and see my heart is black  
>  I see my red door, I must have it painted black  
>  Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts  
>  It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black  
>  \- Paint It, Black by Hidden Citizens ft. Ranya

An hour later, all of them sat in the dining room formulating a plan over dinner, using a combination of the dining room chairs and the folding chairs stored there for times when they had extra visitors. Clarke had bandaged her wrist under Harper’s watchful gaze, and since then at least one person had had their eyes on her at all times, though most of them had kept watch regardless of whose turn it was. Bellamy and Octavia had practically glued themselves to her side. At the moment, they sat on either side of her.

“So for all intents and purposes, let’s say I believe this is some kind of supernatural… curse, or something,” Monty started. “Which – to be clear, I don’t have any idea what’s going on, so that’s not entirely inaccurate, I guess. Anyway, let’s establish some ground rules for this investigation. It’s people who love you who are theoretically in danger, right?”

“Right,” Clarke said warily.

“Lexa told you that she loved you right before she…” Monty waffled about his word choice for a few moments, then finished, “…was killed. Do you think she only really fell in love with you the day of, or do you think that’s just when she realized she loved you, or do you think she knew for more than a day before she told you?”

Clarke faltered. “She’s… not the type to say something like that as soon as she feels it, so she probably knew for a while.”

Monty nodded like he’d expected that. “So the correlation isn’t to people loving you, then, but to people who specifically tell you that they love you?”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Raven interjected. “It’s not like the day Abby died would have been the first day Abby ever told her that she loved her.”

“You did fight that day,” Harper mused. “And you fought with your friend Wells, and with Finn….”

Harper’s unspoken question hung heavy in the air, its weight nearly tangible on Clarke’s shoulders. Clarke thought back to the last time she’d seen Lexa alive. “…I don’t know if I would call it a fight, but we – disagreed, over whether or not she should go to work that day.” Absently, she wondered if Lexa would have been safer in her workplace. Did the police station have private restrooms, or public ones?

“So you just have to not fight with Bellamy ever again?” Jasper asked anxiously. “You guys don’t usually fight anyway, right? So that shouldn’t be too hard? Right?”

Murphy scowled at him. “I thought you said none of this was possible,” he accused.

“It’s been a freaky day, okay?!” Jasper exclaimed, his voice high-pitched and nervous.

“What about your sister?” Octavia queried abruptly.

Clarke blinked. “My… sister?”

“Yeah. I mean, she must have loved you, and she must have fought with you at some point, right?”

Harper gave her a baffled look. “You have a sister?”

“Had. Kind of.” Clarke explained to everyone except Bellamy and Octavia how her twin had been adopted by a different family, never to be seen or heard from again. “I don’t even know her name,” she finished.

“Well, that should be easy enough,” Monty pointed out, pushing his empty plate off to one side and pulling his laptop out of his backpack. “Do you know the names of the people who adopted her?”

“Caleb and Miranda Mason.” Clarke would never forget those two names.

Monty powered up his laptop and typed out their names. Then, frowning at his laptop, he tapped a few more keys. Finally, his frown deepening, he turned his laptop around so that the screen faced her. “Did I spell them right?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

Monty stared in almost betrayed bewilderment at the device. “And you lived where, exactly?”

Clarke relayed the state and county for him.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought…. I can’t find any record of anyone having lived there with those names.”

At that, Clarke frowned, too. “I thought they were just recluses or something who didn’t have any kind of online presence. But if even _you_ can’t find them….”

“Maybe your parents lied about their names so you wouldn’t hunt them down or something?” Miller suggested, but judging by the tone of his voice, even he didn’t buy the reason he had proposed.

Monty shook his head, typing on his computer once again. After a few moments, he said, “I can’t find any trace of Josephine Griffin past the age of twelve, which is when you went into the system together. I’m looking through the files for everyone who changed their names around that time, but… no, none of them look anything like you.”

“We're identical,” Clarke said. “So that’s…, well…, impossible.”

“I’m gonna beat up the next person who says that word,” Murphy muttered.

“Okay, well, she must have had a – a school email address or something, right? Maybe she wrote the name she was using somewhere in there.”

Clarke gave him the address, and he fiddled with the laptop for several minutes before a triumphant grin crossed his face. “Alright, I’m in…. It looks like her last email was to someone named Russell Lightbourne. The subject is just ‘Goodbye.’ There’s a video attached.”

“A _video_?” Clarke echoed.

“I’m guessing you want to see it.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Monty.”

He pushed the laptop towards her, and everyone crowded around behind Clarke as she opened the email. It was empty save for the video.

_Josephine pulled her right hand away from her laptop screen, her eyes vacant and dry despite the tear tracks on both cheeks. “I can’t do this anymore,” she said quietly. “You can’t keep me from her, you can’t – “ Her voice cracked, betraying her otherwise dispassionate visage. She paused, looking away from the screen, then looked back. “You can’t keep me from Clarke. I won’t let you.”_

“Turn it off,” Murphy said suddenly.

“What? Why?” Raven questioned.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

But Clarke could no more have turned off the laptop than she could have flown in that moment, her hands anchored to her lap by an unspeakable, unbearable weight.

_”Clarke, if you’re watching this…, I’m sorry. But I love you so, so much. Too much. And I can’t do this without you anymore.” Josephine’s left hand came into view for the first time, holding a handgun -_

Bellamy jerked Clarke away from the laptop, turning her face towards his chest just in time for a gunshot to echo through the dining room.

Clarke did not turn back to the screen, paralyzed by what she had nearly borne witness to – what her parents had hidden from her for so long. In the suffocating aftermath, no one dared to speak or even move.

The lights flickered off. All of them, one by one, until only Monty’s laptop remained, and suddenly, unbidden by any of them, it began to play an unfamiliar melody.

_Looking like a limb torn off_

_Or altogether just taken apart_

_We’re reeling through an endless fall_

_We are the ever-living ghost of what once was_

_But no one is ever gonna love you more than I do_

_No one’s gonna -_

The laptop slammed shut. Her head snapped up to look at the source of the noise. For one terrifying heartbeat, she thought it had shut itself. Then, in the darkness, she registered Octavia’s hand on top of the computer.

“I don’t want to be here for this,” Jasper moaned softly, and for once, no one commented on his poorly timed tactlessness.

Octavia turned to Clarke and wrapped her arms around her as Bellamy gently released her into Octavia’s embrace. “I’m so sorry,” Octavia murmured in her ears.

Clarke tried to respond, but no words were forthcoming, and her voice was trapped in her lungs, consuming the oxygen within as fast as it could, clawing mercilessly at her chest. Octavia scooted backwards, and Clarke leaned forward to lay her head against her own trembling hands where they sat on her knees, curled up in fists. Everything around her was spinning, and it couldn’t just be the darkness.

Some time later, she became aware of someone’s presence at her side, counting up from one. When he reached ten, he restarted at one. When he reached ten a second time, he said calmly, “Deep breaths, Clarke,” with the air of someone who had said this more than once.

Clarke tried to oblige him, but it felt like the air itself was fighting her. After an indefinite number of minutes, she found that the action of breathing deeply came more easily to her, and she felt her heart rate decline to a semi-normal pace. She pushed herself upright, looking up at Octavia and Murphy. “Thanks.”

Murphy did not answer, as expected. Octavia answered with a small, tense smile.

Clarke scanned the room. The lights were still off, and the others were roaming the apartment using the flashlights on their phones. “What happened? Why are the lights out?”

They exchanged glances. “Not sure,” Octavia admitted. “And… we can’t get out to check.”

“Door locked itself,” Murphy revealed brusquely, shifting where he stood so that he wasn’t facing either of them directly. “Again. As soon as Bellamy and Raven tried to leave.”

“The… front door?” Clarke guessed apprehensively, goosebumps crawling up her arms. Murphy nodded. “Oh. That’s… That’s great.”

Someone snorted behind her. She twisted in her seat to see Raven standing with a glue gun. “We finished gluing all the locks into place,” she announced, and, at Clarke’s questioning look, added, “to make sure no other doors go locking themselves.”

“Are they all barricaded yet?” Murphy asked.

“Nope. We’re getting started on that now.”

“I’ll help.” Murphy followed Raven back towards the bathroom and bedrooms. Speechless and still wrestling with her disbelief of the surreal situation, Clarke pushed herself to her feet and trailed after them with Octavia at her side.

The nine reluctant occupants of the besieged apartment relocated all the heaviest furniture to doorways, barring the respective doors from closing. Once the task was accomplished, they sat back down in the dining room. “What now?” Harper put forth. “Should we… y’know, text our bosses, email our teachers, tell them we’re sick or something?”

“I thought about that,” Monty said, “but as it turns out, we have no service and no internet. So…, no.”

There was a moment of quiet as the absolute desolation of their circumstances hit them. Miller was the first to speak up. “So basically, our best hope is for someone to call the police and have them break in here to get us out, once we’re out of touch for long enough?”

“If they can even get in here,” Murphy retorted dryly. “For all we know, we’re in the most impenetrable fucking fortress in the world right now.” He laughed, and it was a demoralizing, acrid noise.

Eventually, they set aside the issue of a long-term plan and moved onto establishing ground rules for the interim. The first, which everyone easily agreed to, was a buddy system. Anyone who used the bathroom would have to be accompanied by their buddy, and everyone else would respectfully vacate the area around the bathroom. They would sleep in shifts, with one pair sleeping while another pair kept an eye out for them, and they would take turns shining flashlights out of the living room window to spell out S.O.S. in Morse code on the off-chance that someone would see and investigate. Finally, no one was to enter the bathroom or either bedroom unless they absolutely had to. Clarke was glad that the rest of their home was open-concept.

It was nearly morning by the time they finished. Raven and Harper went to nap while Murphy and Miller watched over them. Bellamy, Monty, and Jasper went to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast, so Clarke and Octavia took the first shift by the window.

Less than ten minutes into it, Clarke’s reflection in the window transformed right before her eyes, growing pale and skeletal as blood ran down the side of her head.

“Oh my God,” Octavia whispered, horrified. “Is that – Is that what you always see?”

Clarke started, casting a glance at her friend. “Wait, you see it too?”

Octavia nodded vigorously.

Clarke turned back to her reflection. “No, it doesn’t always look like that. If you see it too, does that mean…” She worried her bottom lip, then addressed the window. “Josie? Josie, that’s you, isn’t it?” The shock on her reflection’s face spoke volumes. Clarke continued, “Josie, I’m sorry. I didn’t know, but that’s no excuse. I should never have believed that you would choose some family you barely knew over me, but…, please, don’t take it out on my friends, okay? Let them go.”

“Let us all go,” Octavia corrected sharply, narrowing her eyes at Clarke. “Because we’re not leaving here without you, Clarke. Got it?”

Frustration rose in Clarke. “If you would just – “ She cut herself off, mindful of the conclusion they had drawn earlier. _No fighting._ “Never mind.”

“I don’t regret it, you know.”

Clarke spun on her heel, her eyes landing on Bellamy as he approached them with Monty and Jasper in tow. “How?” she exclaimed. “Look at the situation we’re in now.” She focused on keeping her voice level, wary of reaching the line at which Josephine would consider the conversation to be an argument.

“True,” Bellamy conceded. “But at least we’re all alive, including you. Right now, all of us have a fighting chance. _You_ still have a fighting chance. That’s worth risking my life for.”

“You would do the same for any of us,” Monty pointed out, his tone comforting, but more than that, calculating.

“Well, sure,” Clarke said at once. “But – “

“’But’ nothing.” He tilted his head, a shrewd gleam in his eyes. “We’re… _You two_ are family. You love each other. You’d do anything for each other. That’s what family is. So why wouldn’t Bellamy do for you what you would do for him?”

While Clarke struggled to answer, Octavia said thoughtfully, “If your sister loved you, why would she be going after everyone else who loves you?”

Clarke looked from Monty to Octavia, trying to catch up with their thought processes. “So… what are you saying? She’s going after people who… what, lie about it?” Her skin crawled at the idea that Wells – and her mom – and, more than anyone, Lexa – had not truly loved her, but it made sense. The only thing was… if that was the reason why, did that mean Bellamy had just been lying to keep her alive?

“That can’t be right,” Bellamy protested, clearly coming to the same conclusion as her. “Clarke, you’re my best friend. Of course I – “

Octavia shot forward, slamming into Bellamy just as a knife came hurtling out of the kitchen, grazing her shoulder. It wedged itself in the wall beside the window, from which Josephine’s fearsome apparition glared menacingly at Bellamy.

“Okay, how the hell are we supposed to stop _that_?!” Jasper yelped.

Monty ran into the dining room.

“Monty!” Jasper shrieked after him. “Why are you going _towards_ the flying knives?!”

Monty picked up one of the folding chairs from earlier. “Catch!” He tossed one to Jasper and one to Clarke, and then, using the third as a shield, ran back to them.

“Good thinking,” Clarke said, passing hers to Bellamy so he could guard her and Octavia while she tore a strip of cloth from her jacket and wrapped it around Octavia’s upper arm, where the cut was. “Now what?”

“What if we try to get into a room without anything sharp?” Bellamy suggested. “If we take my razor out of my bedroom – “

“She could just break the mirror,” Monty refuted.

“Fine, then we move the mirror too.”

“What about the window?” Clarke asked.

“Hell, if she breaks the window, that’s our way out of here,” Octavia retorted.

Monty went ahead of them with one of the chairs, relaying the plan to the four current inhabitants of Bellamy’s bedroom. Clarke, Bellamy, Octavia, and Jasper moved as one under the cover of the remaining chairs. Another two knives ricocheted off of the metal before they reached Bellamy’s bedroom. When they got there, Harper and Murphy dropped Bellamy’s mirror in the hallway, and Miller and Raven pushed the dresser out of the doorway, all four of them retreating to the bedroom in time for Monty to slam the door shut. The door soon attempted to open itself again. Bellamy and Raven joined him in holding it down. The rest of them went for the bed, lifting it into a vertical position and moving it to the door. When Clarke turned around, the screws in the bed frame were unscrewing themselves. “Bellamy, get behind one of the chairs!”

Bellamy took cover, but he kept his eyes on Clarke, his face set in a grim expression. “Clarke, I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “It has to!”

“I wasn’t lying,” he continued. “You know that, right?”

“Stop talking like you’re going to die,” she snapped. “I’m not going to let that happen!” She strode towards the window and threw open the curtains, revealing Josephine and her furious visage. “Stop this!” she shouted. “Stop killing the people I love, Josephine! It’s me you’re angry with, not them!”

Josephine looked away from Bellamy, the wrath vanishing from her face as the screws paused in their work. She frowned at Clarke, visibly confused.

Slowly, Clarke felt herself deflating. “You’re not angry with me,” she realized aloud. “Why are you doing this?” She hesitated, thinking back to what Monty and Octavia had said earlier. “You’re trying to protect me, aren’t you?”

The confusion cleared, and for a half-second, Josephine seemed almost happy. Then she returned her attention to Bellamy, and the screws in the bed frame resumed unscrewing.

“Please, don’t do this,” Clarke begged. “I don’t need to be protected from Bellamy. He’s my best friend. He… He loves me.” For the first time, Clarke saw something like hesitance in Josephine’s gaunt features, and knew she was on the right track. “You don’t need to do this, Josie. Bellamy loves me. I know he does.”

The screws paused once more. For ten nerve-wracking seconds, Clarke kept her gaze trained on Josephine’s as the reflection's eyes softened. Then the specter in the window dissolved, leaving only Clarke’s very, very normal albeit incredibly tired reflection.

The lights flickered back on.

“Please tell me it’s over,” Jasper muttered. “Please, _please_ tell me this is over….”

Harper tentatively stepped towards the bed frame. She poked one of the screws and hastily retracted her finger, but nothing happened. Then she swallowed, knelt beside the bed frame, and twisted the screw back into place. Nothing that should have been inanimate shifted in the least.

“We have service back,” Monty announced, eyes on his phone. “Internet, too.”

Everyone looked between the lights, the bed frame, the window, and each other, trying and failing to find words. Finally, Miller said, “Is it too early in the morning to call in sick to work?”

* * *

> Sorry to my unknown lover  
>  Sorry that I can’t believe  
>  That anybody ever really  
>  Starts to fall in love with me  
>  \- Sorry by Halsey

One week later, Clarke and her friends approached a cemetery in Clarke’s hometown. “Are you sure you don’t want company?” Bellamy asked.

Clarke nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Alright, well… shout for us if you need us, okay?”

Clarke bid them farewell and picked her way through the graves, mirror in hand, searching for the headstone with the name Josephine Lightbourne on it. Upon hunting down Russell Lightbourne and his wife Simone, she’d discovered that they had been Josie’s foster parents when she killed herself. Her parents had refused to give her a funeral and a grave in their family cemetery to prevent Clarke from ever finding out what had happened, so Russell and Simone had given Josephine their own last name for her headstone, but there had never been an official, legal name change.

On Josephine’s grave, Clarke knelt down, laying a bouquet of purple hyacinths on the grave. Then she set the mirror to lean against the headstone. “Josephine?” she called softly. “Josie, are you… are you still there?”

It didn’t take long for her reflection to reform itself in Josephine’s image. Clarke smiled; Josephine looked just as dead as she had last time, but somehow livelier, too. “I think I get it now,” Clarke said. “I understand why all this happened. You felt guilty, didn’t you? You loved me. And when you left me, I stopped believing that you ever had. So when I couldn’t believe that someone else loved me, you made them pay for it." She sat back on her heels, cocking her head to one side. "What happened wasn’t your fault, Josie. You were in pain. If I had only known the truth, I never would have blamed you for it, and I’m so sorry that Mom and Dad hid you from me like that.

“I need you to do something for me now. I need you to let go of me, okay? You have to move on. I don’t know what’s waiting for you when you do, but I know that it’ll be better than this half-life of just watching over me forever. Even if someone does hurt me again….” She glanced over her shoulder at the group of people who had followed her there. “I have people who are looking out for me. It’s not all on you anymore, Josie. You can relax now. You can let go.”

Josephine watched her silently, a tear sliding down her cheek. She placed a hand against the mirror. Clarke put her own hand up, too, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but she thought it felt warmer than mere glass.

Then Josephine was gone, and it was just Clarke.

Clarke picked the mirror up, patted the headstone, and returned to her friends.

“Is that… it?” Harper asked.

“I don’t know for sure,” Clarke admitted. “But… I think it is. I think she’s at peace now.”

Murphy shrugged. “Guess that’ll have to be enough.” He looked around. “If anyone else has dead siblings that they’re hiding, please, for the love of God, speak now.”


End file.
